


Not A Date

by jpo2107



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Sam takes Rafe on a not date, it's fine, no one is developing Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:50:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10052852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jpo2107/pseuds/jpo2107
Summary: Rafe’s stomach growls at the mention of a burger and he stares down at it in betrayal. Sighing again, he relents. Reluctantly.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place within the fake dating AU, set a short time after "Adagio."
> 
> Thank you again to @thirtysixsavefiles for reading over the fic and working her amazing editors magic on it.

Rafe’s elbow deep in paperwork, already seven hours into what he estimates to be a twelve hour work day at  _ minimum _ , when his phone buzzes beside him. He barely glances at it while he crosses off paragraphs on the contract he’s currently looking through, and after a moment it goes silent. Then his phone buzzes again, and if it’s Gregory with  _ another _ amendment on this contract, Rafe is going to drive to his father’s office and strangle the man with his own tacky striped tie. 

Fortunately, it’s not Gregory. Unfortunately, it’s Sam. Rafe sighs and swipes his thumb across the phone screen to read. 

_ Sam: Are you busy right now? _

_ Sam: I mean, you’re always busy, but can you take an hour off or something?* _

Rafe almost doesn’t bother responding. Why would he? They’re not scheduled to meet up until  Saturday afternoon to discuss the fact that his parents had invited them on a week-long vacation, so he hadn’t really been expecting any communication from Sam until Friday night, at least. But Sam will likely continue to bother him unless Rafe responds, so Rafe taps out a terse reply before putting down the phone.

_ Rafe: No. _

The phone buzzes again. Rafe sighs.

_ Sam: Let me take you out for lunch. _

_ Rafe: It’s 3pm. _

_ Sam: Late lunch? _

Rafe smiles despite himself. He’ll give Sam credit where credit is due; he’s persistent. Rafe is still about to decline the offer when another message pops up.

_ Sam: Come on, let me buy you a burger and we can talk about this vacation where your family is planning to kill me. _

Rafe’s stomach growls at the mention of a burger and he stares down at it in betrayal. Sighing again, he relents. Reluctantly. 

_ Rafe: Fine. I’m at my apartment. Pick me up? _

_ Sam: ... _

_ Rafe: Don’t start. _

_ Sam: I’ll be there in 15.  _

_ ~ _

Rafe’s waiting outside when Sam finally pulls up on his motorcycle. Of course he's not wearing a helmet because Samuel Drake is an  _ idiot _ .

Sam smiles at Rafe as he kills the engine. “I didn’t know you owned a pair of jeans.”

“Very funny,” Rafe says dryly as he tries not to stare too long at Sam on his bike. Definitely not staring at those long legs straddling the leather--- Rafe shakes his head to stop his thoughts from going in that direction. “I hope you have a helmet for me somewhere on that bike, otherwise I'm going right back inside.” 

“What, you worried your hair's gonna get messed up?” 

Rafe doesn't bother to respond to that obvious dig and instead folds his arms across his chest and glares at Sam.

“Don't have an aneurysm, just give me a sec,” Sam grumbles as he pulls out a helmet from the side pouch of his bike. He hands it over to Rafe before patting the seat behind him.

“Ok, hop on,” he says, grinning again. 

“I must be insane getting on this thing with you,” Rafe grumbles as he puts the helmet on over his head, adjusting the visor slightly before moving behind Sam. He hesitates for a moment, brief panic setting in. Where the  _ hell _ is he supposed to put his hands? 

“I'll have you know, I'm an excellent driver,” Sam replies, grabbing Rafe’s hands seemingly without a second thought and settling them tight across his stomach.  _ God _ , Rafe is so glad he has a helmet on right now, hiding the warmth blooming across his cheeks. If Sam could see his face, he'd make some smart-ass remark and then Rafe would be forced to push him off the bike.

Rafe doesn't have a lot of time to prepare before Sam revs the engine back to life, knocks the kickstand back and peels out back onto the road in less than 30 seconds. He's not sure if Sam hears his surprised yelp as he tightens his grip instinctively around Sam's middle, but Rafe is pretty sure he can  _ feel _ Sam's smile from where he's sitting.

Asshole probably did that on  _ purpose _ .

Once Rafe gets used to the speed and the fact that he's pressed up against Sam's shoulders, it’s easy to relax against Sam - not that Rafe would ever admit it. The vibrations from the bike, running through both of their bodies is almost soothing, and Rafe closes his eyes for a bit, letting the sensations (and the smell of Sam's leather jacket), wash over him for the rest of the ride. He's surprised at how quickly the ride seems to be over, slowly blinking his eyes open as Sam cuts the engine.

“You awake back there?” Sam teases as Rafe slowly untangles himself from the back of the bike. 

Rafe ignores him and takes of his helmet, the soft breeze hitting his cheeks like a splash of cold water. 

“Look at that,” Sam muses as he helps Rafe get off the bike before grabbing the helmet in his hands. “Hair still looks perfect.”

“Was there ever any doubt?” Rafe counters. Thankfully his voice sounds bored, and doesn’t betray the butterflies in his stomach as his fingers brush against Sam's calloused ones. 

Rafe clears his throat before stepping away -  Sam is  _ awfully  _ close - before looking up at the restaurant sign in dismay.

“Dick’s Drive-In?” He reads aloud, casting an unimpressed look at Sam. “ _ Really _ ?”

Sam shrugs before smiling crookedly. “Hey, you never know when you might need some Dick’s in your mouth.” 

“Sam,” Rafe says, only half-joking. “Don’t tempt me to duct tape your mouth shut.” 

Sam's eyebrows raise but, Rafe just looks at him. Sighing in defeat, Sam shrugs his shoulders before placing his hand on the small of Rafe’s back - like it's meant to be there - and guides him towards the restaurant doors. 

Rafe doesn't want to admit to himself how good the warmth of Sam's hand feels. 

“Okay, okay,” Sam relents. “I'll be on my best behavior. Scout's honor.” 

They've barely made it inside before Sam says with a grin, “Just wait until you see what's on the dessert menu, though.” 

~

“ _ Samuel Drake _ .” 

“What, I didn't say anything! It's on the menu board.” 

The bored teenager patiently waiting to take their order behind the till watches their conversation like it’s a tennis match.

Rafe grimaces slightly.“Do I  _ even _ want to know what a Hot, Salty Mess is?”

Sam grins, winking at the cashier, as if they’re both in on some grand joke. “It’s a milkshake.”

Rafe rolls his eyes. “Of course it is.”

“It’s really good, you should order it.” Sam leans against Rafe, their shoulders brushing against each other.

“Wasn’t me  _ saying _ it enough?” Rafe asks, feeling a flush creep up on his cheeks. He blames it on the heat coming from the back of the restaurant. The deep-fryers must be turned on really high or something.

“Fine, I’ll order it for you. Any preference for food?”

“No,” Rafe says, eyeing the menu board once more. “I trust your judgement. Unfortunately.”

Sam shrugs and leans forward, towards the cashier. “ We’ll have, uh, two cheeseburgers, two medium fries, one large coke and one Hot, Salty Mess, please and thank you.” Sam has the audacity to wink at Rafe and Rafe briefly considers pouring that milkshake over Sam’s smug face when he gets it. 

Rafe automatically reaches for his wallet when the total pops up on the register but Sam puts his hand over Rafe’s to stop him. 

“Hey, this is my treat, remember? Can’t have you paying for everything.”

Rafe tries not to flinch at that. He’s thankfully saved from having to respond by the cashier handing Sam his change and a numbered stub, telling him that their food will be brought out to them in a few minutes. Sam thanks the cashier and he and Rafe head back outside to one of the deserted tables under a tree.

“Why are we sitting outside?” Rafe asks, but he gets his answer in the form of Sam pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket.

“What?” Sam asks defensively at the look of disgust on Rafe’s face. “The wind isn’t blowing in your direction, you’ll be fine.”

Rafe  _ wants _ to protest, but Sam is right; the wind is at Rafe’s back, and the smoke curling from Sam’s freshly lit cigarette doesn’t come close to his nostrils. He still huffs a bit as he eyes Sam, cigarette pressed between his lips ( _ stop staring at his lips _ , Rafe tells himself angrily). Sam slowly takes a drag from his cigarette, eyes closed, and he blows soft, small circles of smoke into the brisk fall air. Rafe can’t tear his eyes away,not even if he wanted to. 

Rafe had always thought smoking was a disgusting habit. But watching the smoke curl out between Sam’s lips and slowly evaporate into the overcast sky is strangely/oddly mesmerizing. 

The sound of a plastic tray hitting the wood of the table jolts Rafe out of his daze, and both he and Sam look up at the cashier who had brought their food. 

“Thanks,” Sam says, grabbing one of the cheeseburgers for himself. The cashier barely nods before turning to head back inside. 

Rafe takes a couple of fries for himself, the hot grease stinging his fingers a little. He takes a tentative bite into one, his eyes widening at the flavor, and he tries not to shove the remainder of the fries in his mouth all at once. 

Sam’s watching him with interested eyes, a small smile playing around his lips as he bites into his own burger. 

“Have you never had fast food before?” Sam asks after swallowing.

“Do you really think I’m  _ that _ much of a snob, Sam?” Rafe asks, unwrapping his burger. Some of the cheese is melting down the side of the burger, and he uses his thumb to scoop it up into his mouth. Sam only raises his eyebrow in response, but that’s all Rafe needs to know; that in fact, that’s  _ exactly _ what Sam thought.

“So, did your nanny take you for burgers when you were a kid or something?” Sam teases as he finishes off his burger. He licks some of  the ketchup off of his thumb before wiping his hands with his napkin.

“Oh you’re hilarious,” Rafe deadpans, taking a bite out of his own burger. He makes a pleased noise from the back of his throat, and swallows before continuing. “For your information, I never had a nanny.”

“Really?” Sam sounds surprised. “No kidding.”

“Yes,  _ really _ .” Rafe frowns at him. “My mother took this thing, you might have heard of it, called  _ maternity leave _ until I was old enough to go to school.”    


“I would have never guessed,” is Sam's reply as he digs into his fries and the comment  _ shouldn't _ bother Rafe, but it does. 

“Do you honestly think that my family is such a stuffed up bunch of aristocrats that we couldn't possibly know what a hamburger looks like, much less know what it tastes like?” Rafe points his finger at Sam defensively. 

“I didn't say---” Sam tries to interject but Rafe cuts him off. 

“Do you know that my father travels over two hundred days a year, at  _ minimum _ ? And that I usually have to accompany him for around half of that? And if we're in Podunk Town, USA, chances are that we're going to have to eat a burger at some point?” 

“Jesus, Rafe. I wasn't implying anything.” 

“You were making assumptions,” Rafe says, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed by his outburst. He usually doesn't get this defensive about his parents. 

“I am  _ tired _ ,” Rafe says suddenly, before his brain catches up with his mouth, “of people thinking my parents are responsible for the way I am.”

“The way--what? What are you talking about?” 

“That they're responsible for me not being in a relationship when I'm in my late twenties. That I have to resort to  _ paying _ someone to pretend to like me because my sparkling personality doesn't do the job.”  Rafe sighs, pushing his fries towards Sam. “It's not their fault,” he finishes quietly. Rafe’s face burns with embarrassment after his impromptu admission, and he keeps his eyes trained on the peeling wood of the table.

Sam lets out a small sigh as he fishes another cigarette out of his pack. He doesn't quite meet Rafe’s eyes when he finally says, “Yeah, well I know all about people making assumptions. I should have known better.” 

It almost sounds like an apology, and Rafe just doesn't want to talk about this anymore, he's sorry he even brought it up in the first place.

“Didn't you drag me out here to discuss something?” Rafe asks, desperate for a change of topic.

Sam takes a thoughtful drag off his cigarette and smiles. “Oh yeah. I was just wondering  what your backup plan is when your dad dumps my body in the ocean.” 

Rafe smiles as he takes another sip of his milkshake. It’s surprisingly good, but he refuses to say as much and give Sam the satisfaction. “Well, there's another Drake around so I might just ask him to fill in.” 

Sam laughs, shaking his head. “Oh,  _ please _ . That would last less than a minute before the both of you killed each other.” 

“Then I guess I'll just have to stick with what I have.” 

“That's sweet and all but that still doesn't answer my very legitimate question about your dad.” 

Rafe sighs. “My father isn't going to kill you.”

“He'll probably  _ have _ me killed. You know, so he has an alibi.” 

“It's really cute how scared you are of him,” Rafe teases. 

Sam huffs indignantly as he grinds his cigarette on the table, but both he and Rafe grin at each other, and Rafe tells himself that the twinge in his stomach is from all the food he just ate. 

Rafe glances down at his watch before looking back up at Sam., “Okay, playtime's over. I need to get back to work.” Sam almost looks disappointed but Rafe is certain that it's wishful thinking on his part. 

They take their tray and garbage to the trash bin and make their way back to Sam's motorcycle in comfortable silence, shoulders bumping against each other, hands almost touching. Rafe shivers as the early evening breeze cuts through his thin t-shirt, and Sam glances down. If Rafe had known what was coming next he would have forestalled it, dropping temperature or no, but Sam shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it around Rafe’s shoulders almost in one gesture, before Rafe realizes what’s happening. Sam climbs back onto the bike and looks expectantly back over his shoulder, like this is just something they  _ do _ , and Rafe is tempted to dump his jacket on the ground just to prove a point -

Except he’s not sure what point he’d be proving, really, and the warmth of the jacket is leaching into Rafe’s skin along with the faint hint of Sam’s aftershave.  _ Jesus, he must be a furnace _ . Rafe lets it pass - this time - and fits his arms through the sleeves, tugging the helmet back on his head and settling on the back of the bike behind Sam.

Sam’s almost  _ definitely _ grinning this time, but what Rafe doesn’t see, he doesn’t have to deal with.

The ride back to Rafe’s apartment is almost over too quickly. Rafe blames the thinning traffic - it’s easier than thinking that he might  _ enjoy _ this, this closeness without the pressure of performance, fitting himself against Sam’s back and letting the city fly by. When Sam pulls up in front of his building Rafe is slow to disengage, but he makes himself let go, sliding off the bike and stepping away.

“Did you have a good time?” Sam asks, leaning on the handlebars of his motorcycle and nope, Rafe is  _ not  _ going to think about how good he looks doing that. 

“Best non-date I've ever had,” Rafe replies as he shrugs off Sam's jacket and holds it out to him. “And I'm including actual dates in that too.” 

That seems to grab Sam's attention. “I can't imagine anyone purposely taking you out on a bad date. 

“I can.” 

Sam looks like he wants to ask, but Rafe is not going to discuss  _ that _ particular topic anytime soon, so he shakes the jacket still in his hand. 

“Can you take your jacket so I can go inside, please?” 

Sam takes the jacket back, slowly putting it on. He makes a soft humming noise before saying, “You sure you don't want me to come up with you? We could put in some more  _ practice _ ?” He actually waggles his eyebrows in such a comedic manner that Rafe almost  _ doesn't _ roll his eyes.

“No, that's fine. I'm pretty sure we have  _ that _ down.” 

Sam shrugs. “Well you know what they say, practice makes perfect.” 

The warmth Rafe suddenly feels spreading across his cheeks is definitely the result of the sudden gust of wind and not in any way a reaction to this conversation. 

Rafe turns to leave, but Sam reaches out and pulls him back Rafe stumbles a bit and, without thinking, steadies himself on Sam's shoulders. Their faces are inches apart. 

Rafe is definitely  _ not _ blushing now. It’s the wind. Surely.

A few long moments pass before Rafe pushes himself off of Sam. 

“Okay well, I need to go inside now,” Rafe says, brushing his hair off of his forehead. “God knows what kind of disaster Gregory left me in my absence.” He turns abruptly away from Sam and he's not running okay, he's just walking very, very fast.

He's almost at the building door when he hears Sam calling his name. Rafe steels himself internally before turning around, trying to make his face seem bored instead of terrified. 

"There's nothing wrong, you know. With the way that you are," Sam clarifies when Rafe finally looks at him. He's smiling a little but he also looks dead serious, and it takes Rafe a minute to place the conversation but all of a sudden he's back at an outdoor picnic table telling Sam things he never meant to tell him, including  _ it's not their fault _ .

Rafe doesn't know what to say to that - what could he say to that that wouldn't take them someplace Rafe is not prepared to go, not right now. Maybe not ever. 

(When did Samuel Drake become tangled up in the possibilities of  _ maybe later  _ in Rafe’s mind?)

Sam doesn't seem to require a response - possibly because he knows he won't get one - kicking the kickstand up and settling back on the bike. "It works for me, anyway."

He winks and then he's gone, pulling away into traffic and leaving Rafe frozen on the steps of his own apartment building, fighting something rising in his stomach, fighting the urge to drag Sam back here and make him  _ explain himself _ .

His better judgement prevails after a few minutes, and Rafe finally heads back inside. To work.

Not to think about Sam Drake and the possibilities of  _ maybe later _ . 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
